Red Visions
by deamonofalone
Summary: When you are plauged with nightmares from your past, and of the future, what are you to do? Especially if you are kidnapped in the middle of your new life. The nightmares and fears of a Young woman may be the way to protect a grave secret. No Flaming!
1. The Beginning

Red Visions

I could feel it. The icy hand of death was caressing the nape of my neck. Sending chills of dread, sorrow, and regret slowly down my spine. My heart was racing. Beating faster and faster, threatening to betray me, and fail. My vision grew hazy; I was going to have another fainting spell. '_You may not!'_ a voice in my head shrieked, '_If you faint now, you will die. Do you want to die?'_

"No," I managed to breathe in between my sharp wheezes. "I will not! Not before I see _him_."

Quickly, I must make haste, for they are here. They are searching for me, and they will find me. Those visions clad in red. Visions, not entirely, visions only in that their faces are always cloaked, never to be viewed by any mortal's eye. These are my last moments, for they are fast, they _run_. They run with a purpose, while I _scurry_. Scurry: to lope without purpose, and to attempt to flee without any progress. How ironic. For I, have never before now done anything but run. Quickly, I must make haste.

It started long ago. I distinctly remember the smell of poppies, and pine. I was engrossed within the painting I was constructing. It was a field of wild flowers. Colors of hunter's green, maroon, lavender, and fiery amber was adorned upon the vast valley. The sun was hitting them in a way that a hauntingly beautiful aura seemed to emanate from off their soft, silken petals. The sight was a bitter sweet scene, for one knows that such a moment only existed in one's purist dreams, and the humans were _not_ pure. Creatures who know no beauty, know only pain and suffering do not deserve to witness such a sight as breathtaking as this. Not even me. Only children cannot even fathom such a bewildering sight, with their innocent, delicate imaginations.

Warm arms wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me into a strong embrace from behind. The burly arms held me close to a fit abdominal region, still pulsing with that intoxicating warmth. Pulling me closer, I felt a soft peck upon the crown of my head, and stared at my unfinished painting in bewilderment. I felt soft hair from a weathered beard touch my cheek, then a mouth by my ear.

"Guess who," whispered, so softly it was almost inaudible, a voice too familiar and loving to ever forget.

I turned to look at my captor who had disturbed my train of thought. "Father," I stared into his dark abyss of an eye, "you of all people should know how rude it is to interrupt an artist while they are in the midst of finishing a painting." I smiled and returned the embrace after pecking his cheek.

"Aye. That I do. After all, your mother was the same way—"

"Truly then, tell me why you continue to do such things," I finally asked while returning to my painting.

"Only you, my dear, can answer that," he announced. Then, as if in a daze, he gazed deeply, sorrowfully, into my uncompleted work.

"What brings you such woe? You stare as if you are reliving a painful memory. One that you wish you could forget…"

"My life is a trivial thing deary, only a blind oaf could see any importance in this wretched life of mine," he mumbled, reverting back to his natural tongue's accent. A tongue, that of a poor Irish man.

His emerald eyes held some deep recognition, a deeper understanding of the things to come than I. He knew it then, I know he did, for he would not have said the next thing without premonition of the coming events, or past ones occurring once again.

"Remember child, there are two types of men in the world. Those men who see the black, dark abyss of unyielding sorrow, thinking it is their only fate. And there are men who only see the white, the façade of the world. These 'puritans' choose not to acknowledge any manifestation of the 'other side,' the bad in the world. They will give you a choice: live with us, in our ways of life, or die a death so that you know that your life was meaningless. Beware of these men, for they will always look for any weakness in the society, capture it, and break it." He looked at me with two eyes the size of saucers, his once red-brown hair flipping lightly in the evening breeze. There was no joy in his words, there was no fear, or hate, it was only the monotonous drone of a man who lost the will to live, and is sending his last wishes with the person he trusts most. His emerald eyes no longer shone with the fire of an old, jovial Irish man, they were steely, clouded, and dead. It was as if his green flames had been extinguished, and he was merely the shell of a dead soul.

"You mentioned 'men,' then tell me--- what of women?" I questioned, starring deeply into those eyes, looking for the slightest spark, the faintest flicker of life.

I got it. A slight smile began to hesitantly creep across his face, gently spreading until his stained yellow teeth were fully visible. "Women," he began, stifling a laugh, "women are not of either world. They do not reside in clear black and white. They have their own world. That, be the world of grey."

I half smiled expecting him to continue, but instead he silently twisted so that he was perpendicular to the setting sun. Splashes of marigold, rose, and peach adorned his skin; his lashes shone with a soft scarlet tint, his hair took on the appearance of its color from when he was a young lad, lips shining with a vibrant rose, he was again the man of his youth. He was once again the happy man I remember to be my father. I as well shifted so I was also facing the shrinking light. I had a short vision; I was in a valley, much like the one in my oil painting, and not but a few yards from me, was a cloaked figure. The cloak was a deathly crimson, and I felt a pang of relentless fear surge through me, stretching to every fiber of my being. I wanted to run, run away from this cloaked figure, but my body persistently held its ground. The lights went dark, and there was a blood curdling scream.

* * *

I love this... it actually worked! I was able to not make it a oneshot!!! Okay, tell ya what, there will be more than one chapter, but the chapters will probably be short. Okay? Okay! See ya next time... when I have the time (don't worry, Christmas break is almost here, and well, I'll have some time on my hands...) 


	2. A Chilling Night

Red Visions

Finally! Another Capter! I hope you guys are happy now... sigh I have the seccond chapter for you guys, and I'm ready for any flames that may come due to my cronic writer's block condition... sweat drop Okay! On with the story!

* * *

A Chilling Time 

I awoke, drenched in my own sweat. My breathing was staggered and heavy. Where was I? How did I get here? My heart began to race. Faster and faster it beat, till I thought it would inevitably cease to. Then, within the endless darkness, I heard a slight, soft, shallow intake of breath. My head instinctively turned sharply towards the foreign noise. Yet, the being that lurked within my chamber was intangible to my unadjusted eyes. I failed to recognize this, and strained my eyes further. My heart was racing, pounding within my breast. Fresh, hot sweat began to escape, flowing freely from every last pore upon my starched, icy flesh. The breathing remained soft and shallow, beginning to grow haggard. A moment's pause entered the atmosphere, and there was dead silence, even I, with my sour breath, had ceased to breathe. I had not realized it until that very moment, where I took a sharp intake of air. My own breath was like a cat's ferocious hiss when it was succumbing to its loss of sanity, viewing every object in its path with an eye that merely perceives the fiendish demons that lurk in our world. The demons that live among the mortal, and feed upon their warm, soft flesh; drinking their equally warm, salty blood.

A loud, viscous cough broke the silence. The unsteady acceleration of breath soon followed. What was that unearthly sound? I slowly crept out of my bed, and proceeded to advance towards the figure. I could scarcely make out the figure of what looked like a man's hunched form. It was no longer the dead silence from before… now it was a loud, viscous gurgling coming from the beast's throat and lungs. It was like the sound of a soldier dying, dying from a punctured lung. Another cough filled the room, sending waves of chilling cold throughout my being. I had finally reached the figure, when I heard a peculiar noise from outside my window lattice. My heart skipped several beats, but I dismissed it as though it were merely the wind. I outstretched a quivering, frail hand, but I did not once touch the figure. For you see, it abruptly stood with reflexes not of this world. I could feel air rushing past my ears. The ground was no more. I was falling. Falling and falling--- was there no end? The darkness began to creep into my vision once again. I do not remember ever making contact with any solid force, nor do I remember the next words that I can only recall from that event. _"Revenez pas à la terre de la veille. Revenez pas à la terre du crépuscule. Le coffre-fort de subsistance dans la terre de tient le premier rôle. Ils ne peuvent pas vous trouver en tant que facilement là__"_Return not to the land of Eve. Return not to the land of Dusk. Keep safe in the land of stars. They cannot find you as easily there.

Again, I awoke. A soft crunching sound could be heard from outside. It was darker than before. I could at least see fait silhouettes in the other darkness, but then, there were small speckles of light. It was no longer a matter of dilated pupils, of how well I could see, it was only a matter of when I would again be permitted to see. The darkness held no cold however. Things were not chilling, or frosty for wear. It held warmth to it. This warmth, only obtainable from the vast power of the sun, was there. Nothing, more. It was then that I realized that consistent rumbling. A consistent grinding and, what was it, muffled pounding managed to so boastfully antagonize my ears. I at once preceded to burry my head beneath the covers in my make-shift cot, when I felt a sudden wringing upon my wrists. A horrid burning sensation kindly graced itself among my still aching body. It felt as if I had been in some domestic struggle and just happened to be on the receiving end of my mother's wrath. Like a wraith, she would come. Like a demon she would strike. Finding all possible openings and bringing each and every one to her sharpened blade. On the off chance that she would choose something more… blunt, getting away with a few broken bones, a shattered nose, and a body no longer the color of milk or honey, would be lucky. I was bound, and I knew it. This was also a familiar thing. Haunting memories of dark mingled on the border of unconsciousness and the future sense.

* * *

(flash back) 

_"__Mother!__ Mother! Stop it! She's heard you enough times! She knows! You can stop now!" A frightened angelic voice pleaded, "She'll be good—"_

_A lou__d slap could be heard from two__ doors down in all directions. __A misplaced thump came, misplaced because it hit the dinner table. Short huffs of breath could be heard, and the scraping sound of metal on wood.__ Someone had kicked away the offending knife. No sooner did the scraping commence, did another cry co__me, this one louder than before, a mournful cry, a crazed one at that._

_"Don't patronize me!"_

_Another thump came, then a sickening crunch. The Banshee's Wail, that's what Papa called it, flew from the angel's tongue. The neighbors knew. The whole village knew. Yet no soul was brave enough to oppose her. This devil which possessed Malinda __O'Conner__ could not be faced without an army. Vampires woul__d flee from her if ever faced with__ her scornful gaze._

_A male voice echoed throughout the room, "Stop this at once! Mother!"_

_There was shuffling__. It was somehow calming, the sound of shoes on the wooden floorboards. It meant that he was trying to help. Relief swept over me in waves. I knew that voice. That voice was a safe heaven. For he was the only one who could restrain her, that is until Papa came home. My eyes were closed, and I was losing the strength to hold onto the knowing world. I was going to go to the nightmare place. There was a click, then a wooden moan. Papa was home…_

(end flash back)

* * *

Okay... Short chapter... I know I know... "Only two chapters?!" "What's Wrong With You?!" "Write Faster" blah blah blah... Be patient with me okay? I only have one mind... and computer... I'll try and keep it interesting. If I can (and am not dead by impatient readers) I'll try and post another Chapter Before the break ends... JaNe! 


	3. Down the Rabbit Hole

Red Visions

Shouts could be heard from outside the enclosed space I was being held captive in. The burning was becoming worse and worse, and soon, I felt a warm tickling upon the palm of my hand. It was not great, nor was too soft to detect, but it was perceptible enough so that I could get an idea of what sort of matter it was. I let the tickling thing run down my palm and to my fingers. Raising my hands as gingerly as I could, I pointed my fingers towards the ground. The floor of this room was hard, and most likely made out of wood, therefore, I could hear what the sensation was by its sound. The curious thing left the tips of my fingers, and that was when I heard it. _Drip_. My eyes opened wide, breath caught in my throat. This was not good. The smell of rust, old rust at that, and salt, made its way to my nose. A swirling, sparkling mist seemed to invade my sight. At once, the world seemed unstable and became a free fall with twists and turns. My palms became clammy, my head became suddenly light, and the world was spinning out of control. I felt as though I were in some infant's first illustration of a long complex scribble. A never-ending cycle of waves and loops alike, this is the closest I can describe it. Further into the world of nausea I flew, my breath became sour, my heart was racing, and I had broken out in a cold sweat.

I lay there, helpless and alone, feeling fainter by the second. My sense of logic had expired long ago; rational thought was no longer plausible. A severe sensation raked its way throughout my extremities, leaving nothing but unfathomable pain behind. Something else was wrong as well. I was not only plagued by the viscous, foul liquid leaving my body, caked with dirt, sweat, grease, and God knows what else, but by other, seemingly less salient wounds. One however, was not a wound inflicted by some foreign means. It was self-dubbed as "blossoming into a fine young woman". In other words, be them more perceptible to those unintelligible fools, I had once again begun my monthly cycle. My period was here.

"Oh God… not again," I whispered through heavy, breathless huffs. "Not now-- any other time but now," I began to wheeze. Dry heaves erupted from the depths of my lungs, and soon, they were dry no more. A viscous, hot liquid erupted from my mouth in large amounts. The odor was foul and pungent. An air of dizziness swept over me, and a gray blanket seemed to be forming before my eyes, beckoning me into unconsciousness. I welcomed it whole heartedly. With my last remains of knowing, I felt a gust of fresh air. Warm sensations spilled themselves into the cramped space, and panicked shouts could be heard from behind me. The voices grew quieter, although just as urgent, and quieter still. I knew no more.

Voices… hushed voices. There were people here. Yes, people. People meant food. Food meant without hunger. Without hunger meant survival. But wait… what were they talking about? These people were nervous, frightened almost, and why was that? Why did it seem like they were suspicious of everyone, every passer-by, everything? I strained myself to hear them.

"No… we can't do that. She's just a babe," a soft feminine voice reprimanded.



"A babe that could be the answer to our troubles," a husky male voice pleaded. Was he crying, or just desperate?

A voice like velvet, soothing and angelic, spoke up, "If she is the one, then we must keep her safe at all costs. If she is not—," he broke off sharply. Footfalls. Loud footfalls were coming… coming closer. They were here. "Hmm… She seems to have awakened," his voice was bored and annoyed.

"Then help her up you fool!" the feminine voice shouted. Soft dainty tuffs of air were all that was heard from her feet. How could she be so silent? "Come here, dear, let me take that blind fold off of 'ya."

Light, bright blinding sensations scorched themselves into my retinas. I shook my head, in a daze, and felt my hair fall into my face. When I looked up once again, gray mist fogged my sight, slowly, though, it receded. Vibrant colors of many sorts were before me. The royalist of blues, fiercest orange, bloodiest red, and every color of the spectrum could be found before me in all its glory. Awestruck, I merely stared, gawking at the immense array of colors and surplus of people.

"W-where am I?" I looked to the woman. She was a petite girl with an even tan. Her midnight locks reflected against the sun, gently whisking in the afternoon breeze. When she tucked them behind her ear, they would lazily find their way to her face again. She had a gentle smile that filled you with comfort and warmth. It was impossible to deny or feel suspicious of.

"My dear, we are at the southeastern coast of India."

India? What's India? More importantly, _where_ is this India?! "I-indeeyah?" I stammered. I felt the color rush out of my own skin. My hands grew cold as clay, my breath quickly turned sour and shallow. Where was I? Who are these people? Where was Papa? "Papa…" I whispered. "Where is Papa?"

A strained look flashed across her face. She immediately pulled it away and hid it with a tight mask of steadfastness. "We couldn't bring him with us, love. It was too inconvenient for both of our plans… his and ours." Plans? What plans could there possibly be? We had been just fine working the vineyard in Ireland, why did he send me away?

"Then, tell me, what is the purpose of my capture, my containment in a cramped carriage, and overall, my separation from my father and my home?" I was not pleased; all signs of compromise were not present. There was nothing to negotiate about. There was nothing holding me back from running away either if I truly had a choice. What was of the utmost importance now was getting the answers I needed, no matter how grizzly the truth may be.

A cold hand rested itself upon my shoulder. My gaze, still solid and somewhat menacing, found its way to relentless eyes. They were a cold slate, sharp and piercing. It was frightening how they seemed to see straight through you, how they seemed to devour your resolve and shake you to the core. My face dropped, all self-assurance I once had was gone. All I could do was stare into those haunting, unethical, unwilling, condescending, tireless, endless, shining… beautiful… _Wait, 'beautiful'?_ I 

thought to myself. My mouth had opened slightly, and I quickly closed it from embarrassment. I felt my cheeks flush as I hid my face from his view.

"You were saying…?" he urged tugging on a piece of my hair. "I was sure you were going to lash out at everyone with the tone you were using, but surely that was just a farce, seeing as how you seem to be so placid and docile," he teased. He was mocking me. My submissive nature would not last long, or rather, did not last long. The reason for that being he started to play with my hair.

I tried to calmly move away from him, but he had a solid grip on my hair. I hated it, his touch, it sent chills up my spine, I wanted to get away from him as quickly as I could. He released a lock of hair, and moved on to another before I could escape his grasp. _Damn, he quick_. Okay, plan two; talk him out of playing with my hair. Before I could do that, however, he noticed my planning, scheming, and did the most horrifying thing I had ever experienced in my life. He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulled me close to him, and blew cold wind over my ear almost in an urgent shushing sound.

_"Don't move, don't speak, just stay still," a hushed voice ordered. It was sweet and light. I knew that voice._

_"B-brother?" I managed to whisper. I knew it was him; I merely had to confirm it._

_His angelic voice whispered soothingly in my ear, "Yes. It's me. There's no need to be afraid anymore." He started stroking my hair, and I began to calm down._

_I began to start asking him what was going on, but he covered my mouth, and let out a sharp hiss, telling me to be quiet. Not just quiet though, he was telling me we weren't alone, that we were in _her _presence. Loud, scattered, inconsistent footfalls were nearing the next room. We had to hide. Erik wound his arm around my tiny waist, and pulled me into the crawlspace under the stairs. There was a secret door there that Papa had built for us, his three children only, in case we were ever invaded by the Cardinals. Not even Mother knew about it. The Cardinals of our town were different from those of the Vatican. Our Cardinals lived to their color. Red. We may have lived on isle, but we were far from safe from these so-called 'Holy Men.' If they were so holy, then why didn't they save us from Mother?_

_The footfalls stopped. They were closest to the kitchen, and Erik was barely opening the secret door when the noise stopped. We both froze. My breath was caught, my heart was racing, and all I could do was wait. There was a furious growl, then the Banshee's wail. She was coming, and quickly. I heard the trap door swing open, and someone pull me from behind._

"_Stay here, and don't get out until I come for you!" Erik shouted over Malinda's screeching. He pushed me into the hole and I fell. I hit my head on the ground. That was the last time I saw my brother, his face looking down on me with his emerald eyes glittering from the tears that threatened to fall. He closed the door, and all light was gone from my world. I heard a door open, but it was not the welcoming door that signaled Papa's return. It had a shrill squeaking from the iron hinges, the rough scraping of wood against wood, and a demon waiting in that cold, cold light._

"_Get up," it demanded. There was no response. "I said, GET UP!" There was the sound of dragging, then a harsh crack and crash. Mother had thrown her youngest son against the craw space's door, breaking it from its hinges. More and more gruesome and sickening sounds followed that one dreadful crash, but there was one, and only one that scared me the most._

_Silence. That was all that was left, silence. I went to the nightmare world once more._

* * *

_Okay, okay, I know it's been a while... okay... a LONG while since I last submitted a chapter, but I've been really busy, really stressed, and overloaded with homework for the pas couple of months, so I ask your forgiveness. Now, if it hadn't been for two things (my baka yelling at me and me being sick) I probably wouldn't have submitted anything until after we got back from our trip to San Fran In May. Good thing my baka is so persistant... Anywho... I had some major writer's block, and I've been editing this damn thing for ages, trying to get it to my liking. I hope the flashback wasn't too much, but I'll try and explain what she means by "going to the nightmare place" as soon as I can... And, if anyone would feel it in their hearts to suggest names to me (since I suck at names and it took me Two days to come up with Erik's... literally... don't laugh) and it seems to me that even our Protagonist doesn't even have a name yet... I would like some suggestions please. I greatly appreciate all names, and if I like your name(s) enough, then I'll make a special character just for you! I'll probably write it somewhere in an A/N or something... Okay! Thank you all for being patient! deep bow _


End file.
